


Scars

by Bestboiuwu



Series: Mechanics, Monsters and Mayhem [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Mecha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bestboiuwu/pseuds/Bestboiuwu
Summary: If your name is Sam or Evie you're not allowed to read this. Also applied to Cecelia and Isaiah but they to my knowledge do not know my ao3
Series: Mechanics, Monsters and Mayhem [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913329





	Scars

Emie had her fair share of scars. You don't go as long as she had in this job without them. Even the best pilots had their off days, their failed missions- and she was, and she had. Most of hers, however, just so happened to be in places that her regular clothes covered. Her chest, back, she had some narly ones on her thighs- almost all of them invisible to others as she went about her daily work.

The same… could not be said for these three.

Out of the four new recruits, three of them were, well. Just real fucked up, honestly.

The first one had dyed red hair and introduced himself with the last name Lim.

Huh, Lim? Like, the robotics guy? She had met him at some fancy party years back, an older man who, when she thought about it, beared some resemblance to the redhead in front of her. She didn't like the older man. Generic smarmy asshole, like so many of the people she had met those days-

The redhead's scars were long and jagged, zigzagging haphazardly across his face. She figures that whatever caused them probably wasn't too different from what gave her her own- fight gone bad, broken, jagged metal from a half-destroyed mech. Maybe even glass?

The second one's scars were less easily explained. Ripley, they had said, and Isabelle had fangirled about some scientific accomplishment of theirs, she thought she heard the word Lasers or something.

Lasers? Could that be it? No, she had seen burns before- this wasn't a burn.

Half of their face, half of their neck, and even the edge of their hand (if Emie had to guess it probably extended much further under their coat) was a pale, withered flesh that turned to mess scabbing where it met their undamaged skin. If they ever got close enough, became friends, she made a mental note to ask them how they got it.

Like that would ever happen.

The third- oh, shit. Emie's seen her before. Seen was maybe a bit of an understatement, she had sat in front of her television, inches from the screen, watching her on loop. 

For six years, Emie was the victor is the Pacific Northwest Mecha-Based Combat Tournament. Six times, she had stood up on that stage and claimed her metal in front of millions of people nationwide. At no point had she used that time. She had just as always quietly done as she was told, wordlessly collected her medal, being sure not to do anything that could embarrass the company.

And that's why years later, she had watched in awe as Minerva Mars (the first Non-Pattersons employed victor in the past fifteen years) had walked on stage, grabbed the mic out of a reporters hand and loudly before the entire nation had declared, "Fuck Pattersons."

For Emie, It was jaw-dropping.

She wasn't going to tell Minerva that, of course. 

Emie glances at Minerva's scar, a messy burn that starts where her neck meets her shoulder and ends where minerva's arm does, which is just past her shoulder, at which point it continues into a prosthetic.

Isabelle is bothering Minerva now, assumedly about said prosthetic, and Emie files away all this information for later.

A mad scientist, goggles and all, with half of their face likely lost to some unknown experiment.

The relative of a smarmy robotics billionaire, who's face was covered in long jagged lines that she guesses are from a mech battle not unlike her own.

A girl missing an arm, who had both beaten some of the best pilots in the country and said on live television the things that Emie had wanted to but never could.

A fourth pilot, sans-scars, and younger than the rest. She figured that in this business, he would probably have his own narly gashes soon enough.

And then her, her back, chest and thighs bearing their own superficial damage, though she managed to keep hers hidden.

What an interesting crew, she figures.


End file.
